Alone
by prxnceling
Summary: Elrohir struggles enough with his social anxiety and borderline depression. To make matters worse, as he and his twin approach majority, it seems that Elladan gets all the attention from everyone, all the time, and Elrohir is destined to live eternally in his shadow. But his struggle goes unnoticed by his family. Will they see his pain in time to save him from his self-destruction?
1. Chapter 1

Elrohir Elrondion was sitting in his lessons, watching as his twin beside him gnawed absentmindedly on the end of his pen as he thought, and he examined him as Elladan stared at his parchment with intensity. He had finished his own assignment nearly half an hour ago, but Erestor was doing paperwork, and Elladan was working still.

He gave a soft sigh. They were both nearing majority, though it felt forever away. In half a year they would reach their hundredth begetting day, and would finally be allowed to stop going to these lessons.

After another moment of watching Elladan Elrohir sighed, standing and laying down his quill before moving towards the shelves. They had lessons in the library, and he often found himself wandering through the musty bookshelves after finishing, waiting for Elladan to do so as well.

He went in one of the thinner aisles and looked up at the large books and buckets of scrolls. After a moment of looking at the books he looked to the scrolls and began to shift through them, moving them aside to look in the bottom of the container—often the well-hidden documents were the most interesting for him to read.

"Could you keep it down? I'm trying to work!"

As Elladan's voice floated by, Elrohir froze in his search and heaved a soft sigh.

"Sorry."

He could hear Elladan's huff of irritation in response, and stood, replacing the scrolls. As the papers rustled once more, Elladan's voice came sharply again.

"Elrohir!"

"I'm just trying to put them back!" Elrohir cried in exasperation, and dumped them messily in the container before grabbing a random book from the shelf and held it to his chest.

"Leave your brother alone, Elladan—he's not doing any harm. If you cannot concentrate through the rustling of parchment I dare not think of what you will be like in a real work environment."

Elrohir smiled softly as Erestor's voice came and stepped out from the aisle, holding the book still and placing it gently on his desk, sitting quietly in his seat. He gave a small smile to Erestor, but the librarian was already focused on his work once more.

He opened the book, and did not read it; he let his eyes rest upon the ink but did not look at the words, for the topic had no interest to him.

When Elladan had finally finished, Elrohir watched as he threw his pen down and a large grin came across his face.

"I'm done!" he announced loudly, leaning back in his chair. Erestor huffed, looking up.

"You'd do well to remember this is a library, Elladan. Your voice carries."

Elladan's grin did not fade as he picked up his papers and dumped them on Erestor's desk.

"Can I go, now?"

Erestor waved his hand dismissively and Elladan walked away, his countenance light now that his work for the day was done. Elrohir, left behind, stood up, picked up the book, and walked to Erestor's desk, laying his papers neatly upon it.

Erestor's hand shot up, though his eyes did not look up from his work. Elrohir stood, confused, for a moment, before realizing that the librarian wished for the book in his hands. He handed it over.

Erestor glanced at the title.

"'Records of Trades Completed, TA 1000'," he read, and his eyebrows shot up. "This does not seem to be a topic that would interest you in the slightest, penneth."

Elrohir gave a small shrug, unable to meet Erestor's eyes.

"I just grabbed the first thing I saw," he mumbled. "I didn't want to make any more noise…he was annoyed with me already."

Erestor sighed and his eyes softened some.

"You must learn to stand up to him, Elrohir. He is your brother—your twin. He is meant to respect you as much as you do him."

Elrohir shrugged once more, a light blush dusting his cheeks.

"I…I guess." He closed his eyes for a moment, trying to think of another topic to speak about. When he thought of one, his eyes opened. "…I messed up the scrolls—I dumped them back in the bin without care. I will fix them."

Erestor shook his head, waving his hand dismissively. "Go. I'll take care of it."

Elrohir bit his lip—he would've liked to have something to do to distract himself—but nodded, unable to go against the one person whose favor he had. He turned on his heel and walked from the room, playing absentmindedly with the ends of his hair.

They had a training session in an hour. Elrohir dreaded them; he was no match for Elladan with the sword, and often Elrond and Celebrian would come and watch their spars. The thought of them made him slightly nauseous, but he pushed it down and walked down the hallways towards his room.

He was nearly there when he nearly collided with a taller figure—his eyes had been locked on the floor. He immediately stumbled back.

"I—sorry," he murmured quickly, and raised his eyes to meet those of the person he had walked into, cheeks slightly red. "Sorry."

Elrond stood before him, and Elrohir felt his embarrassment deepen. He tried so hard to get his father's approval and pride, and now he looked like a bumbling fool!

"It's quite alright, ion-nin." Elrond's eyes were filled with mirth, and Elrohir wanted the ground to open up and swallow him whole. The last thing he wanted was for Elrond to _laugh_ at him. "Where are you off to, penneth?"

That name drove him crazy. He was nearly at majority, for Valar's sake! And no one called Elladan "young one"—no one thought of him as a child still.

"I was just going to my room," Elrohir said, voice soft. Elrond tilted his head.

"Oh? What for?"

"I don't know…" Elrohir said. "I have an hour of free time, and I thought I could…draw. Or read. Or…something." Truly, he did not know what he would do, but at least in his room he would be alone.

Elrond gave a small smile, but Elrohir did not see it, his eyes still locked on the floor. The elvenlord felt a small measure of concern come over him for his son—he had always been timid, but not so much as this.

"Do as you wish," he said gently, and gave a short pet to Elrohir's hair before drawing back. "Your mother and I will be at your training session today," he added, and pressed a kiss to Elrohir's brow before going on his way down the hall once more.

Elrohir felt bile rise in his throat at the thought, and began a brisk walk that was almost a run towards his room. He burst into it and quickly shut the door behind him, sliding down it.

"Why did you come in in such a rush, brother?"

Elrohir's eyes jerked up, and before him was Elladan, sifting through one of his drawers. Elrohir shot to his feet.

"What are you doing?" he very near shrieked, going over to Elladan and standing between him and the drawer that he had been looking through. "Why are you in here?!"

Elladan snorted. "I needed a tunic—this one's dirty already." He motioned to the ink stain on his shirt, and Elrohir felt tears of frustration growing his eyes—why couldn't he just be _alone_ for _five minutes?_

"You can't just take my tunics because you've run out!" he exclaimed, looking over the tunic that Elladan was currently wearing. "…That one is mine, as well. You can't just take my things without asking, Elladan!"

Elladan looked slightly confused at the outburst.

"I needed that for the big meal tomorrow, and now you've ruined it with inkstains!" Elrohir cried, and squeezed his eyes shut. "J-just…just g-get o-out!"

Elladan retreated, holding his hand up in a gesture of surrender, and left the room, and Elrohir slid once more down to the floor and sat there, hugging his knees tightly to his chest. The one thing that was his was his room, and now Elladan had infiltrated that, as well.

He closed his eyes. This had been an even more hellish day than usual, and he just wanted it to end…

O:o:O

Elrohir had not realized that he had fallen asleep until he jolted awake.

He let out a groggy groan and rubbed at his eyes, running his hands over his face in a feeble attempt to wake up. He stood, and his muscles protested loudly, awkward and sore from the position he had been in for so long.

He glanced out the window.

 _Shit!_

The sun was well past where it was supposed to be—he was so late! He quickly threw on his training tunic and dashed down the halls, slamming the door behind him and running down to the door.

The training session was well underway by now, and Glorfindel stood at the center of it all. There were ten students in their class, Elladan and himself included, and on the benches near the sidelines sat Celebrian and Elrond, watching intently. His heart dropped.

They had not even noticed he was not there.

Elrond whispered something to Celebrian, pointing into the fray of students. Celebrian laughed at the comment, and her head came to rest on Elrond's shoulder. They showed no measure of concern for him not being there—they had not even noticed, it appeared.

O:o:O

He did not go to training that day.

Upon the realization that no one had noticed his absence, Elrohir turned on his heel and went back into the Last Homely House, going back up to his room and throwing his training clothes in the drawer once more. He looked through the drawer for something else to wear, seeing as his tunic from earlier that day that he had thrown on the floor in his haste had already been taken by the cleaning staff.

There was nothing in the drawer save thick, woolen tunics; it seemed Elladan had already taken all of his light summer ones to wear without Elrohir even noticing. So he took out one of the tunics and put it on, despite the fact that in the summer humidity the fabric was itchy and hot.

He climbed into bed, laying there with no intention of sleeping. The training session would be on for another hour, but he could not summon the courage to go down to it and participate—not when he was so clearly unwanted.

He lay in the bed, curled up in a small ball, and felt tired and hot and awful. After a few minutes he took off the tunic and threw it to the floor, all thoughts of cleanliness discarded, and instead hugged an old toy to his chest in an attempt to draw some comfort from it.

"Little brother!" came the cheerful voice from outside his door an hour later, and without knock or warning Elladan burst in, wearing another one of Elrohir's tunics and covered in a thin sheen of sweat from training. "Where were you today? Glorfindel says you have to do extra laps next time for skipping!"

Elrohir shrugged a little, giving a small sigh.

"Learn to knock, Elladan," was the first thing he said, before continuing to answer the question. "I fell asleep…"

Elladan just laughed, and Elrohir felt a surge of irritation go through him—he made a request for one of his wishes, and all he got was to be laughed at!

"Is that a stuffed animal?" Elladan asked, and Elrohir sighed again. Now the teasing would never cease.

"Valar!" Elladan took the toy from Elrohir's limp form and laughed, patting it gently before placing it back on the bed. "I thought you'd grown out of these things long ago, brother!"

Elrohir shrugged once more and curled up further. He did not usually sleep with his toys, but right now all he wished for was comfort, and memories of a time when he was younger, and people payed attention to him—when he and Elladan were inseparable, and both given equal shares of attention.

"I'm going back to sleep…" he muttered. He closed his eyes, and missed the brief look of concern that flashed through Elladan's, before the older twin's face went back to its grin to hide his worry.

"As you wish, brother. I'll see you when you wake!"

And Elladan left, and Elrohir was alone with his misery once more.


	2. Chapter 2

Elrohir did not sleep, though the door clicked shut behind Elladan and he was alone once more. He could not force his whirling mind to rest, and instead he lay there, still and silent.

The sun fell and the bell for dinner rang, but he found he was not hungry. He sat up and sat upon the edge of the bed for a few minutes, but then he stood in an almost violent movement and began to pace around the room with long, fast strides, hoping to ease the restlessness that was growing in his limbs.

He found it barely helped, and he went to the window, throwing it open and looking outside. Dusk had ended and the world had descended to darkness, and there were a few elves wandering through the gardens, which were lit with colorful lanterns, but none in the courtyard or training fields.

He threw on a tunic and descended the stairs quickly, ignoring the looks he gained when he passed in such haste. Bursting into the cool night air, he sucked in a breath of relief—alone.

He made his way to the training field and then to the armory, passing the guards without a word exchanged and looking through the weapons. He chose a sword from the rack and drew it from its sheath, looking at the steel that glittered in the low light and letting a ghost of a smile cross his lips.

He went out onto the field once more, sword still drawn. The weapon felt odd and clunky in his hands—he knew they were a healer's hands, not a warrior's. He had known it since he was a child.

But, if it was a warrior that his parents, his brother, his people wanted…he would make himself into a perfect one, if only to earn their love.

He swung the blade in a slow arc, trying to get accustomed to the feeling of it in his hands. He was no killer…but all he had to do was best Elladan. Show that he could fight, that he could fight _better_ than his twin, and then they would love him. He could feel it. He just had to _work._

He swung once more in a slightly violent motion, letting out a growl. There was a dummy to the side, low and squat in the shape of an orc, and he swung at it over and over and over. His teeth were gritted and his eyes dark, and he swung and swung and swung, each time taking a bite as if with an animal's teeth from the dummy, exposing the feathers and stuffing within that held it in the right shape. Sweat dripped down the side of his face, and his hands bled, chafed from the contact with the hilt of the sword.

He did not stop until the dummy fell apart completely, the metal and wood holding it together broken by the strength of his swings, and the entire thing toppled to its side. Still, he did not feel satisfied…actually, he felt rather sick.

He attached the sword hilt to his belt and sheathed the blade, kicking the dummy's head as hard as he could, ignoring the sudden burst of pain in his foot—the head was made of a wooden sphere filled with heavy rocks, and it barely moved as he kicked it over and over with all his might. He let out a cry of frustration, and continued to kick until finally the pain in his foot became apparent, suddenly and strongly. He stumbled backwards and let out a whimper, staring at the destruction he had wrought with wide eyes, before beginning a slow limp back towards the house.

O:o:O

Elrohir did not wake up the next day, sleeping all the way through breakfast. He had cared minimally for the wounds on his hands, the night before, wrapping a bandage around them, but had not bothered to look at his foot, which was still within his boot. He had not changed clothes before he went to bed, lying awake for most of the night before finally falling into a fitful slumber.

When he woke, it was to his throbbing foot, and he let out a low groan, burying his face in his pillow and squeezing his eyes shut. After a moment he sat up, giving a drawn sigh before looking to his boots.

He attempted to pull the boot off, but found it made pain explode in his toes and he let out a growl. He had to get it off to treat it! He yanked hard on the boot and pulled it off, ignoring the waves of agony that went through the foot as he did so.

He grit his teeth and examined the now-exposed toes. It seemed that none were broken, but they were a dark purple and bruised deep. He stood on his good leg and hobbled over to the cupboard where he kept his healing supplies, mixing together a salve that he then applied to his foot. It cooled the pain somewhat, but it still ached dully.

Glancing out the window, he noted that the sun was already midway through the sky, and he realized numbly that he was late for his lessons. Why had no one come to wake him?

He dressed slowly, careful of his foot, and pulled on socks to cover the wounds from any eyes that would look at him once he stepped out the door. He glanced warily at his boots, and, deciding against putting them on, sentenced himself to spending the day in only his socks. It would look ridiculous, but at least it would not hurt quite as much.

He wrapped the bandages around his hands once more and walked out of the room, trying his best to hide his limp as he went down the hallways towards the library.

O:o:O

He entered the library, and Erestor's eyes snapped up to him. Elladan was already working furiously at his desk, trying, once more, to finish as quickly as possible. Elrohir went to Erestor's desk.

"I apologize for my lateness," he said softly, looking at the fine oak that made the desk but not touching it, standing straight before it.

"You are excused," Erestor said, and his eyebrows were still quirked. Elrohir had never been this late before, not even when he was a child.

"What is your excuse?"

"I overslept," Elrohir said, and looked up to finally meet Erestor's eyes. Erestor looked over him critically.

"What happened to your hands? Why are you not wearing shoes?"

"I fell," Elrohir said easily. "Outside, in the courtyard—I went for a walk last night. I bruised my foot rather badly, and my hands were scraped by the stone."

Erestor looked Elrohir in the eye for another long moment, tense and full of scrutiny. It was obvious that he did not believe him, but, apparently deciding it was too much effort to find out what really happened, Erestor just handed Elrohir the stack of papers he was to work on today with a soft sigh.

Elrohir took the stack and went to his desk, barely sparing a glance for Elladan, who had looked up from his work to stare at him.

He wrote and wrote, finishing the assignment quickly and ignoring the growing pain in his hands. When he finished, blood was coming through the bandages, and he looked at them for a moment, eyes emotionless as he looked at them.

The blood catching his eye, Elladan's eyes jerked up from his work, and he gasped as he saw the state of the bandages.

"You're bleeding!"

Elrohir shrugged noncommittally.

"Indeed I am," he said, and stood, face cool. "But it is not something you need to worry yourself over, Elladan."

"Yes it is!" Elladan cried, standing as well. "You're my little brother!"

Elrohir's face hardened at that, and his eyes narrowed.

"I'm not your little anything."

He walked past the dumbstruck Elladan and went to Erestor, putting his papers lightly upon the Councilor's desk.

"May I go take care of my hands?" he asked.

Erestor looked to him.

"Go to your father," he instructed. "I want them to be treated properly."

Elrohir shook his head.

"I can do it myself."

Erestor's eyes hardened. "You will go to your father," he said firmly. "And if you do not, you'll find yourself with a failing grade on today's assignment."

Elrohir recoiled slightly, brows furrowing. Sure, Erestor had spoken to Elladan thus before, but Elrohir he was always more gentle and lenient with, giving his near perfect record as a student.

"It will be…as you wish, Master Erestor." That was a lie. He would not go to his father for anything in the world at the moment, no matter how much his mind screamed at him that this great was important, and the one thing he had over Elladan was his academic skills. "May I go?"

Erestor nodded, and Elrohir turned on his heel, hobbling back out the door.

O:o:O

They did not have training today—thank the Valar. Instead, Elrohir would go to the healing halls for his training there, and…well, hopefully, Elrond would not be there. He did not want to face his father, who would instantly see through any excuses he made with his expert knowledge about what sort of falls and hits made what sort of wounds.

He cleaned his hands gently, and though they stung he barely felt it as he cleaned away the excess dirt, spread a paste over them, and wrapped new bandages around them. He didn't know if he should return to class—there was still half an hour left. But he was already finished with his work, and he did not want to see Erestor again, either, so he decided against it.

Lying on the bed, he let his eyes fall shut but did not sleep, trying to get his bearings as best he could. He needed to be calm and collected in the healing halls, and he needed to have a better cover story—the better of the healers would see right through it.

O:o:O

His new story of choice was that he had been trying to open a box, and his methods included kicking it. And it was a rough box, so his hands were scraped in the process. It was still a weak cover, he knew, but for today it would suffice.

Already he knew he would go to the training fields again tonight, and resolved that, starting tomorrow, he must hide any sustained injuries more effectively; these excuses would only hold for so long.

When it came time he stood up from the bed, looking once more at his hands and his foot before walking out the door, limp hidden as well as he could.

The healing hall was bustling today—a patrol had returned from scouting a party of orcs just outside the border of the valley, and several had been wounded. Elrohir was glad for it—the diverted attention kept eyes off of him as he went to his station. There was a lone soldier sitting, the only visible wound a small puncture from an arrow on his arm. Elrohir motioned for him to come sit on one of the pristine white beds, as the other healers moved quickly around to help the more injured elves.

"Come. I will tend to your wound."

"You do not need to, Lord Elrohir. There are others—"

"Others that are all well taken care of by our best healers. I have nothing better to do."

The ellon finally nodded reluctantly and sat on the edge of the bed, and, upon Elrohir's request, removed his tunic.

Elrohir examined the wound as he mixed something for the pain. The soldier was quick to protest that, as well, but Elrohir was quick to counter, saying "Why put you in pain, when you do not have to be? Again, I have nothing better to do."

The ellon drank the pain-relieving mixture and Elrohir took the wounded arm within his hands, looking it over once more. It seemed to be clean, and the arrowhead had already been removed—an easy treatment, really.

"Lord Elrohir?" Elrohir's eyes jerked up to the ellon as he spoke, and he nodded for him to continue.

"What happened to your hands?" the ellon asked, and Elrohir held back a sigh at the question. "Are you wounded?"

"Not badly," Elrohir said, and took a wet cloth, beginning to dab at the wound. "Tis nothing to worry about. I'm quite alright."

The soldier sat in an awkward silence after that, daring not to ask how Elrohir had hurt himself, and Elrohir was grateful for that.

He was quickly finished treating the wound, and, wrapping a bandage around it, Elrohir cast some healing magic over it to ensure it would heal quickly.

"If anything changes, return, and I will look at your wound again," he said to the soldier, who was squirming and looking as if he desperately wished to say something. Elrohir smiled and clasped the other's shoulder firmly before leaving, not giving him a chance to speak.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

The next week left Elrohir with more bruises and aching muscles. Each morning bewildered guards came to the training field and found the mess left there by some seemingly inexplicable circumstances.

This morning was much like the others. Breakfast was ongoing and the halls were mostly empty, and during this time Elrohir went through the halls, silent and pale as a ghost.

Coming to the oaken door of his parents' room, he quickly inserted the key-it was an identical key for every room belonging to a member of their family-and slipped in. The chambers were empty, its occupants down in the dining hall socializing and eating, readying themselves for the day. Elrohir walked past through the room and past the bed, which was made, supposedly by Elrond's hand. He liked to keep things neat.

Within the bathing chambers he stopped, and pulled out a small container from the cabinet. He placed it upon the rim of the washbasin and opened it, revealing pale powder inside that his mother often used to enhance her beauty. It was a common practice among the ellyth in Imladris.

Carefully he washed his face and then put some of the powder onto a small cloth, and then dabbed it carefully over the bruises that marred his skin, one on his forehead and the other on his jawbone. He also put a film of it over the space under his eyes, which had darkened over the past days from lack of sleep. He then did the same for a few other bruises that were noticeable despite his long-sleeved tunic-one that poked out the top near his collarbone, and one on his right hand.

He replaced the powder and took the towel with him-it would be less suspicious if it was found in his room than his parents', who would notice the extra item in their hamper. Ignoring the growling of his stomach, Elrohir first returned to his room to dispose of the towel and then set off to the library, where his and Elladan's lessons were soon to begin. Standing outside the large doors he hovered nearby, not wanting to enter too early and have to face Erestor's scrutiny even more than necessary.

Finally, the bell rang to indicate that breakfast had ended and people should get to their duties. Elrohir waited two minutes more, counting silently in his head. Classes had been alright the past week, he supposed, but he had not missed Erestor's gaze and the way it lingered uncomfortably on him.

 _One...two...three...four…_

His hands were cold but were becoming clammy even as he counted, and he tried desperately to keep them under control. He had barely slept, and couldn't control his muscles, which were now protesting the way he denied them rest so cruelly.

 _Sixty...sixty-one...sixty-two...sixty-three…_

Elrohir held his hands together, lacing the fingers and staring at them as he waited for them to stop their shaking.

 _One hundred and eighteen...one hundred and nineteen...one hundred and twenty._

He pushed the door open and entered.

Erestor was, as always, at his desk, and he did not so much as glance up at Elrohir when the young ellon arrived. And, if he was being quite honest, Elrohir was glad for the lack of his kinsman's sharp gaze as he sat down at his desk. Upon the wooden surface was the paper from the previous week, and it was lying face down so that the grade could not be seen. Elrohir turned it over.

A zero.

Elrohir sighed; he probably should have expected that Erestor would find out that he had not gone to Elrond for treatment of his wounds, but he had not really expected Erestor to go through with giving him no credit for the work. He did not speak, and neither did Erestor, as he set to the assignment that was laid out for the day.

Elladan entered the library a few minutes later, but Elrohir did not look up, staring down at his paper as he continued to write. A look of hurt flashed through Elladan's eyes, and though Elrohir did not see it, Erestor did.

"The assignment is on your desk, Elladan," the librarian said, and Elladan tore his eyes away from his twin and sat down, sighing as he set to work.

The next hours were filled with glances from Elladan to Elrohir, and the younger twin stubbornly refusing to lift his head. But he felt the eyes on him and his fingers around his quill were painfully tight.

Elladan finished his work before Elrohir, and disbelief at the fact was written on his face as he stood. The older twin went to Erestor's desk and handed over his assignment. Erestor looked it over, looking through the papers to see that they were all filled out, and then nodded tersely to his pupil.

"You are dismissed."

Elladan nodded, and turned on his heel. As he passed Elrohir's desk, he paused, hesitating.

"I'll see you at training today, little brother," he said finally, having decided it was a fairly neutral thing to say and should not provoke Elrohir, who seemed to be constantly on edge in these recent days. As Elrohir's eyes, bloodshot from lack of sleep and hardened into a glare, locked on him, Elladan's eyebrows came together slightly. There was a long pause before Elrohir spoke.

"Do not call me that."

Then he stood, work finished, pushing past Elladan and ignoring the way their shoulders bumped. Elladan, whose face was stricken, finally turned and left.

Elrohir put his work on Erestor's desk, and was going to turn to leave when he felt Erestor's eyes on him. He let out a barely audible sigh, turning back to his teacher and waiting for him to speak.

"Elrohir."

Elrohir looked to Erestor's face and saw the irritation there, but kept his face calm and neutral. "Yes?"

"You did not go to your father."

"No."

"You deliberately did not do as I asked you to."

"Yes."

Erestor's eye twitched, and his eyes hardened. "You would do well to give me more than one word answers, young Lord, and you will explain yourself. Now."

"I did not want to," he said, and Erestor's face turned stony.

"You not wanting to is not an excuse."

"It is to me."

Elrohir knew not where this brashness was coming from, but it was tight and coiled in his chest, as if pulling at the inside of him and refusing to let go. Perhaps it was pride, but he did not think so...it was anger. Anger that he would never be good enough and that Erestor did not trust him to take care of himself. Anger that now Elladan had become better than him in a place he had always held dominance: Erestor's opinion.

Erestor's face was unreadable, now, and Elrohir felt a pang of regret, but it soon faded to nothing.

"You are dismissed," Erestor said, and his voice was cold. And, instead of apologizing, Elrohir turned his back, grabbed his graded paper and left, slamming the door behind him.

O:o:O

Training came more quickly today than usual, it seemed. But this time, Elrohir was ready to attend, and was not going to miss it. Elrond and Celebrian would be there today as well, and Elrohir knew it was his chance to prove himself. He would prove himself to them.

He dressed and quickly went down the stairs, determined to be present and on time. When he arrived at the field, Elrond and Celebrian were sitting in the stands, looking out over the field.

"Elrohir."

Elrohir spun around quickly, muscles immediately tense and rigid as he heard the voice from just behind him. He barely relaxed when he saw it was Glorfindel who stood there, tall and proud.

"Master Glorfindel," he said softly, and his head was bowed; he dared not look in the balrog-slayer's eyes after skipping the last week's practice.

"You decided not to come last week," Glorfindel said, deep blue eyes calm and open, though not without suspicion. "Why?"

Oh, how he hated this. This interrogation-at first from Erestor and now from Glorfindel. What had he done to deserve such scrutiny? He had always tried his best, and showed up on time. He missed practice once and got this attitude from his teachers, but Elladan was late near every day and was allowed to continue as their favorite.

The word vibrated inside him, resounding through his chest, which ached.

Elladan was their favorite.

"I was asleep." It came out colder than he had meant it to, but with the thoughts running rampant through his mind his tone did not surprise him.

One of Glorfindel's eyebrows shot sharply up, and Elrohir felt frustration build in him once again. Glorfindel did not believe him-and he was telling the truth!

"Very well." The balrog-slayer's voice was disappointed, just as Erestor's had been, and it only angered Elrohir further. "You'll be well rested for you extra laps, then. Twenty-five."

A harsh punishment-twenty-five laps around the entirety of the large training field. Elrohir bit hard on his lip to hold back an angry retort, instead starting on the laps and letting the anger, hot in his blood, fuel his running.

It was a few minutes before the rest of the trainees arrived, Elladan among them. They were sent to warm up as well, and they began a steady jog around the field. They were running fast-faster than Elrohir was. And despite the fact that he had far more laps to do and should pace himself, Elrohir pushed himself harder and harder in the summer heat so they would not catch up, and he would not have to look at their judgemental faces.

"Elrohir!"

Elrohir did not turn, for the voice so close behind him meant that they had caught up-that _Elladan_ had caught up. His face was red from the blood rushing so fast through him and from the heat and humiliation.

"Brother!" Elladan exclaimed, running up beside his twin with another stupid grin on his face. "You decided to come today! How many laps is Master Glorfindel make you do?"

"Twenty-five," Elrohir muttered, face dark. Elladan seemed to decide that the sour expression was due to the sheer number of laps, and he laughed. A few of the other trainees did as well.

"We only have to do five," Elladan said, patting his brother's shoulder sympathetically, and Elrohir shied away. "See you when you're finished, brother."

O:o:O

When Elrohir finally finished his laps, he had missed the warm up session, and everyone was preparing to spar. Fading easily into the crowd of young ellyn and ellyth, he grabbed a practice sword from a nearby rack.

"I'll divide you into pairs, and you can spar," Glorfindel said, his head visible above all the others due to his height. "I will be watching. Do not harm one another more than bruises. Once one of you has the other restrained, call for me and I will determine the winner."

There was murmured assent amongst the recruits, and before Elrohir knew it Elladan was by his side, already dragging him over to a clearer area near their parents in order to spar without asking if Elrohir wanted to be his partner. Of course Elladan would pick him, for Elladan knew that he could best Elrohir in a fight and earn their parents' approval.

At least, that was what Elladan thought.


End file.
